“I’m so sorry,” I mumbled. The valet shrugged and rolled his eyes like I held equal responsibility for standing next to the pig. Inside the restaurant, he was rude to the host about the table he brought us to, which was perfectly fine, but twenty feet from the bathroom was too close. He flirted with the waitress as soon as she asked for our drink order. Her dress hugged her curves tightly and ended mid-thigh, likely for the tips, but I doubted she enjoyed the open-mouthed attention Tyler gave her.
She bent over our table to refill his water and he leaned in, making her visibly shrink away.Did he smell her?I discarded the thought. That was too creepy to be true. When she came back to take our orders, I chose a pasta dish. It was the cheapest thing on the menu, and I didn’t want him thinking I owed him.
The server brought us posh little salads and a basket of fresh bread. As she placed it on the table, he reached out for a slice, running his hand across the back of hers. She snapped it away as he licked his lips at her. When he turned back to me, he did the same. I surreptitiously pulled up my dress, hating his eyes on me. Was he always like this and I didn’t notice, or did he behave better at the office?
He shoved giant forkfuls of his salad into his mouth. He packed it in further with huge bites of bread and then spoke through it. I picked at my plate, though my appetite disappeared entirely.
“I could’ve gone to med school or something.” A little of his spit hit my cheek, and I lifted my napkin to wipe the moisture away without him noticing. “I mean, I’m more than smart enough,“—he picked his teeth— “my IQ is genius level. I won’t tell you my score because people find it threatening. Do you know your IQ?”
“No, I don’t.” I hadn’t spoken a word in about ten minutes. His lengthy monologues needed no help. I wanted to smack the superior smile off his face.
He sucked air through his teeth, working out something stuck there. “Yeah, I wouldn’t think you would. I could have been an engineer or anything I wanted with my brains. Being an admissions counselor is kind of beneath me, but I’m giving back to the community. I’m a role model molding young minds. Who else gets to do that?” I thought of a few career paths that were directly responsible for molding young minds, but sure, his martyrdom rivaled John the Baptist.
“Only a few people.” I buttered a piece of bread I didn’t plan on eating.
“I knew you’d understand,” he winked. He kept speaking, and I imagined the poor woman whose life he would ruin when he married her. She would need a strong stomach to deal with all that self-adoration, and God help their children. They would either hate him or wind up exactly like him, perhaps a bit of both.
The server took our salads away and replaced them with our entrees. The pasta tasted delicious, and I mourned my ruined appetite. “My favorite part of being on safari is the elephants. They’re incredible creatures.” I perked up at that. They were my favorite animal, and though this date was a complete wash, I would love to hear about them from someone who had seen them in person. “Hunting them is better than sex, primal, you know?”
“I can’t imagine.” He didn’t seem to notice the revulsion in my voice, and I drifted back to a psych one-oh-one class I took freshman year of college. Nature vs. nurture, was Tyler born this way, or was he spoiled rotten? It must have been amazing to grow up with money. I certainly didn’t, but it never bothered me that others were more well off than myself. There were plenty of people in much worse situations too. That’s how life is.
I wouldn’t want anyone to judge me for my lower-middle-class upbringing, but I couldn’t help feeling like all that privilege and opportunity were wasted on him. His parents’ money gave him a plethora of experiences to use as backdrops for his narcissistic rants. Most likely, they bought him the Maserati he loved so much. I hoped that was the problem, anyway. The idea that someone came into the world screaming and bloody with narcissistic ass as their factory settings was too depressing to accept.
“Would you care for dessert?” I shook my head at the offer and the flirtatious suggestion in his tone. He flagged the server down and winked at her as he ordered the crème brûlée.
Another personal anecdote later, she brought him his desert. He paused his monologue only long enough to crack the brûlée shell. “Do you want a taste?” he purred at me with his custard-filled mouth. I wondered again if he was excellent at hiding his awfulness, or if I was exceptionally unobservant?Why do our coworkers like you?
“No, thanks.” I trained my eyes on the wall somewhere beyond his head. I would stare at the beige paint all day if it meant I didn’t need to see his open mouth. He tucked the spoon between his lips and licked suggestively at it. My stomach rolled as I thought of his lips anywhere near mine. This retired frat boy was the antithesis of what I wanted, not only in a partner but in anyone.
“Would you like to come back to my place for drinks?” Unease settled in my chest at the certainty in his tone. He tapped on the white tablecloth waiting for my response. I gaped like a fish searching for divine intervention. This whole dinner was one red flag after another. There were two things I was absolutely sure of. Tyler considered me a foregone conclusion and he made me nervous in a way that went far deeper than a creep I didn’t want to screw.
Tyler didn’t strike me as the type that took well to being turned down. I imagined him pressing me against the door to my apartment, refusing to leave without a kiss. I shuddered at the thought. Him being my coworker complicated matters further.
I had no means to slip seamlessly away without ever seeing him again. My nausea inspired me, and I grabbed onto it like a lifeline. My hands wrapped protectively around my stomach and I moaned gutturally.
“I think I’m going to be sick,” and before he responded, I ran to the bathroom.
I stared in the mirror over the sink.God, Claire, you know better than this. You should have never gone on this date.
“Awful date, huh?” A pretty blonde woman asked as she came to the sink to wash her hands.
“You have no idea,” I answered as I stepped aside for her.
“Actually, I do. I come here a lot and that guy is in here with a different girl every other night. He’s a real sleazeball.” She flipped her hands toward the sink, shaking off the water.
I rolled my eyes. “I figured that out myself, if only it was before I said yes to this date.”
She nodded her head at me as she pulled down a few paper towels. “I’m at the table in the back corner. If you want, I’ll pretend to be your friend to get you out of it.”
“I appreciate it, seriously, but I work with the guy. I’m not getting off that easily.” She gave me an apologetic look as she left the bathroom.
Dread settled into my stomach like a stone as I went back to my seat. The image of him forcing himself on me outside of my apartment developed into a full-blown horror scene. His lips on mine, his body shoved against me, hands sliding up my thighs, the images wracked my mind with startling clarity. Clearer was the rage that would no doubt follow when I turned him down.
“Are you alright? Your face is bright red.” The disgust in his tone gave me my reprieve.
I released the breath I held. “No, I think I’m coming down with a stomach bug.” My voice distorted around the word bug, banking on him not being a nurturer. He leaned back, trying to escape the line of trajectory. I nearly laughed but kept it in so he wouldn’t call my bluff. I held my napkin over my mouth and moaned, pleased to have a purpose for my dramatic flair.
“I should take you home.” He waved our server over and handed her a credit card. I didn’t miss the fact he slipped his number inside the bill with it.
He ushered me out of the restaurant, mumbling something about his car’s interior. We waited for the valet to bring his “baby” around. My eyes trained on the pavement, trying to avoid a conversation. From the way Tyler watched me climb in, I was sure he would rather I take the bus. For the first time in my life, I wished I had a stomach bug. I mulled over the many things I would trade for the ability to puke all over his car.
He drove me home oscillating between super slow and super fast, unable to decide if it was better to get me out sooner or go easy on the bumps. Neither of us said a word. I held my hand over my mouth like it was the only barrier between vomit and the leather. The traffic thickened, and the trip took much longer than I hoped it would. Eventually, we pulled up in front of my building, and I hopped out. “I’m so sorry, Tyler. Thanks for dinner.” I told him with some sincerity. I was sorry it had been so awful.
“You can make it up to me.” There was a dark promise in his voice I didn’t want to explore further.
My hand smacked over my mouth as I bent forward, then I turned and fled, calling another “Sorry!” over my shoulder. I ran into my apartment as fast as possible, slamming the door and flipping on the lights. I leaned against the wood and slid down to my butt.What the hell am I going to do about that?